


tonight is when everything ends

by platypusesareneverasleep



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, i suck at royal heredity i'm sorry, royalty!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 15:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12061494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platypusesareneverasleep/pseuds/platypusesareneverasleep
Summary: Baz is expected to court Princess Agatha, but an unexpected obstacle comes in the form of the prince of Salisbury.





	tonight is when everything ends

Everyone in the House of Pitch wields magic that feels like fire. Hot, thick, burning, ashes winding up your throat and imbedding in your skin. 

Baz had gotten used to it by the time he was six. He could control his fire, make it dance and writhe and jump if he wanted to, he could make it _ignite_. His nanny Vera once found him transfixed in the playroom, watching a toy rabbit crumble into black dust on the carpet, the smell of smoke in the air.

Even at six, he was the perfect heir to the throne, perfectly groomed and amply powerful. Just like his mother before him.

Baz knows he is the only reason why they let his father act as ruler. His father is from the Grimm family, old and large, but they worked their way up to nobility. A Grimm was never supposed to be king. Baz’s stepmother is a lady from an even lower family, she is not royal and her children will never touch the crown.

In one year, Baz will take the throne officially. His directly descending Pitch blood decrees him as first in line. His aunt Fiona is second in line, but nobody believes her able to rule. She is too impetuous, too fiery. Too much like the common people.

In one year, Baz will likely be engaged to Princess Agatha Wellbelove. 

Everybody knows the Wellbelove family is beautiful. They are vivacious, they are lovely. Everyone cherishes one another, and they act generous, they hide away their shared vanity. The Wellbeloves hold strong friendships with every aristocratic family.

Baz has only seen Agatha twice in his life, and he knows he doesn’t want her.

Of course, she was the epitome of nobility both times. Hair shining like spun silvergold, perfect poise with every step, glowing in pearls and ivory. An angel, all rosy cheeks and gently curving smiles as her parents tittered and twirled and laughed around her.

Baz didn’t feel anything when he kissed her hand.

.

.

.

In a month, the Wellbeloves will be hosting dozens of guests at their summer chateau, a two-week-long celebration at the end of August. Everybody is welcome to stay at the palace and dance at the ball at the end of the fortnight. Baz has attended twice before, since fifteen years old. Fifteen was when his father expected him to make courting Princess Agatha his own responsibility.

The Bunces will attend, one of the lower nobilities. The Bunce family is enormous and influential, but they water down their magic with all of the children they have. Sometimes a powerful mage will marry in and replenish the magic for a generation or two. A number of noble families will attend, but none as large as the Bunces.

The Pettys, attending as well, are quite old and quite distinguished. A number of powerful mages with the Petty name have made it a respected royal family.

The Salisburys will be there, and everybody wants to see the crown prince. His power is practically unheard of, and his mother Lucy’s death has made him the only direct heir. The Salisburys and the Pitches have been at odds for a long time. Both powerful, battling for dominance…

Perhaps, Baz thinks, they’ll make peace.

.

.

.

Princess Agatha, at eighteen, is more beautiful than she was before. She is not dark enough or powerful enough to stir up trouble, she will make an adored and decorative queen. Baz’s father approves of her, the royal advisors approve of her…his mother is probably nodding at her in the heavens.

Her parents adore Baz, too. They are welcoming to the other nobles entering the palace, but they are especially doting to their destined son-in-law.

“Basil,” the Queen Wellbelove trills, as Agatha approaches him and curtsies. “How handsome you look.”

Every moment spent with Princess Agatha is another pleased nod from his father, more praise from her mother, another conversation with her father. Baz does not know how to act like family to these people, so full of delight and joy and compliments handed out like sweets on a tray.

Every moment spent with Princess Agatha feels like nothing.

.

.

.

He is walking next to her and she is smiling at him when they see the boy in the gardens. He has bronze curls and is dotted with moles and wears a distinct look of not knowing where he is or how to navigate it.

His name is Simon, and Baz feels everything he needs to feel for Agatha for him instead.

His name is Simon, and he is not a Wellbelove, or a princess. He is of the House of Salisbury, the very court which the Pitches are fighting with. He is the revered crown prince, whose magic can drive away dragons and summon storms. Here, he is clumsy and sweet and genuine.

He looks at Agatha and he sees calm and beauty. He looks at Baz and he sees flames and sparks and flight. 

.

.

.

Baz is allowed to spend time with Simon, as long as he continues courting Agatha. His mother, a full-blooded Pitch, would not allow this. His father is soft-willed. Like him.

Simon brings along a Bunce girl their age, named Penelope. She is smart, powerful and impressive, and she’d be a great leader. Simon constantly forgets to address her as Lady Penelope at the dinner table. He accidentally calls her “Penny” a handful of times, and his reddening cheeks make Baz want to kiss him.

Baz tries to think about kissing Agatha, but Agatha looks like Simon and she has turned into Simon and he is kissing Simon, actually, and it’s so much nicer than kissing Agatha.

.

.

.

When Penny finds out Baz can play the violin, she drags him to the music room, where Agatha pulls out a fine violin from the variety of neglected instruments. They’ve probably only been used as portrait props for the last couple of years. 

Agatha sings, softly, even though she isn’t confident about her voice. And after Baz hastily runs through a concerto, he makes Penny try her hand—mouth—at a flute, which she says she’s seen her older brother play. They all fall over each other laughing, and Baz feels like this is his absolute happiness, this is what has been missing for the last seventeen years of his life.

.

.

.

The next day Baz is reminded that he is supposed to be courting Agatha, and he conjures lilies for her. She thanks him, but she looks sore from his magic. That slow, deep, aching burn, making it’s way through a girl who has been surrounded by mild magic like springtime sun rays her whole life.

Baz imagines Simon marrying Agatha instead, so that he doesn’t have to. But Simon’s father doesn’t care about marriage or heirs or legacy, and Baz’s does. He thinks about marrying Simon instead, and leaving Agatha out. Simon certainly wouldn’t be adored or decorative—and he’d stir up trouble probably immediately. Baz would be sent up in flames the first day of his reign. And though hidden lovers are known of, lovers who are royal on _both_ sides aren’t.

Besides, Simon doesn’t even know how Baz feels. Yet.

Simon and Baz and Penelope are always talking with each other, politics and history and magic, things the Wellbeloves don’t worry about. Soon Agatha spends less and less time with the three as the days go by. 

.

.

.

“Baz?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Do you like Penny?”

“Sure. I like you better, though.”

“I like you too, Baz.”

.

.

.

As if by chance, as if the stars align for a moment just for him, Baz elbows Simon and his hand drops by his and before he knows it Simon has clasped his fingers through Baz’s. Simon is warm, and he leans on Baz’s shoulder while they’re walking through the roses. Like it’s natural. Like it doesn’t send Baz’s heart ricocheting off his rib cage and his blood rushing to his cheeks.

“You’re always cold, Baz. If I hold your hand long enough, maybe it’ll warm up.”

They find ways to touch each other when nobody notices, while walking, during dinner. Every brush against the knuckles is deliberate, every knock against the shoulder intentional. When Simon wipes an eyelash from Baz’s cheek in a probably empty corridor, fluttering leaps up in his stomach. Baz wants him, all of him, now. _Let me, let me, let me._

“Make a wish,” Simon says, without the magic.

And Baz makes his wish and gets it for himself.

When Baz kisses him, he feels like he has lost control for the first time. His fire has burned its way out of his grasp, he is melting, everything around him is catching on fire. like it’s doused with gasoline. Simon’s hands are shaping the softening wax into something alive. Simon’s heat brings life.

Soon Penny too spends less and less time with them. She seems to have disappeared where Agatha has gone.

.

.

.

Baz looks like his parents, and all the Wellbeloves and Grimms and Bunces say so when they come upon him. His mother, or his mother’s portrait, is all mocha skin and sharp cheekbones and intense gaze. His father is starkly drawn like a graphite sketch.

He notices how little Simon looks like his father, a loud and rugged man in chestnut and bronze. Simon is all gold, like the sun. Perhaps Princess Lucy’s portrait is golden too.

_You’re the sun,_ Baz thinks. _You’re the sun and stars and sky._

_I am yours_.

.

.

.

One night Baz pulls Simon along to his chambers, and he finally gets to kiss him as much as he wants.

Simon is nervous at first about sleeping together on the bed, but he lets go when they’ve been kissing for so long his eyelids are drooping and tucks his head into Baz’s chest, letting him wrap his arms around him. Baz wakes up with the scent of smoke in his shirt and Simon’s body heat in the blankets. They have to cast _there’s nothing to see here_ on a Grimm cousin while trying to sneak Simon back to his rooms.

When Baz comes back to dress, the bed is cold again.

.

.

.

It is nearly the end of the fortnight. Baz meets Simon and Penelope and Agatha at the lunch picnic on the grand lawn, the last time everybody will get together before the ball (other than dinner). The adults eat in the pavilion, and anyone under thirty lays a blanket on the grass and sits down. They eat sandwiches, and Agatha laughs when Simon gets egg and cress by his lip. Baz wants to kiss it off, but Simon uses a napkin instead. 

Baz’s father shoots a look at him. _Don’t miss your chance, Basil. Time’s nearly up._

He holds his hand out to Agatha and they sit by the willow tree. Rhys and Gareth—nobles’ sons—join Simon instead. Penny looks out of place, but not like she cares.

Agatha looks beautiful in her lilac dress, and Baz tells her so. He magics another bouquet for her, and makes witty talk and cleans up when they finish their sandwiches. His father looks satisfied.

Agatha’s smiles are as sweet as sunshine, but her eyes are far away.

.

.

.

The four have their own picnic in the rose garden, when the stars are out. Simon spells his cherry scones warm—accidentally charring a couple, he’d stolen them from lunch. Only Baz sees Agatha wincing at his power, but she covers it up and puts on a smiles quickly.

Baz has nabbed wine from the kitchens, too. They all take a sip, Penny wrinkling her nose.

Eventually the bottle is mostly gone and they are all drunk on the heavy, muffled heat of the nighttime. The frogs croak steadily, hidden in the grass, and Baz regrets not spelling the mosquitoes away beforehand. Simon closes his eyes and leans on Baz, who runs his fingers through his curls. The moonlight catches on his lashes.

Penelope refills the wine with a wobbly spell, and Agatha says sleepily, “your magic tastes like the herbs that Cook uses.” After a while, all of their eyelids droop shut.

“Baz,” Simon murmurs. “Are you going to be with Agatha?”

Agatha is snoring gently, curled up on the picnic blanket with her head in Penny’s lap. 

“No, love,” Baz says. “I’m going to make you mine forever and run away with you.”

“That sounds…good…”

Simon falls asleep to the rhythm of Baz’s breathing, and only Baz is left awake with the stars reflected in his eyes.

Tomorrow, Baz will have to become the Baz who marries Agatha and raises an heir and takes the throne. He will have to carry on the rivalry with the Salisburys, and he likely will never see Simon like this again. He’ll travel home, see Agatha again in a month or two, and if he’s lucky, see Simon in a year at the least.

_Tonight_ , thinks Baz, _is when everything ends._

.

.

.

“I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“We should dance together, at the ball.”

“You’re supposed to be dancing with Agatha at the ball.”

“I want to dance with _you_ , Simon.”  
“Everyone will know.”

“I want them to.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt. I have you.”

“If they see, what will happen?”

“That’s not important.”

“Yes it is.”

“Nothing will ever be important as you are to me.”

“Baz—”

“Simon.”

.

.

.

Baz is in the hallway when he glimpses Penny and Agatha together in the music room. Agatha’s eyes are closed, and Penny is holding her, murmuring gentle, soothing words.

“Everything will be okay, Agatha.”

.

.

.

Baz’s father intends him to dance with Agatha. He is pleased as he speaks to Baz about her, because he is certain that they will soon be betrothed. 

“This dance is the announcement of your union,” he tells Baz, laying a solemn hand on his shoulder. “Of our families’ unions.”

Baz nods like he understands him perfectly, and he does. He just chooses not to heed his words. 

At eight o’ clock, Baz steps into the ballroom with Simon on his arm.

He sees his father talking with the Wellbeloves, turning around and inhaling through his nostrils. He sees Agatha swathed in watery white silk, pearls dripping from her ears like tears. An intricate braid wreaths her head, and she looks relieved. Penelope stands with her parents, dressed in all the colors of the deep night, her lips pressed close but her eyes wide.

Her eyes find Simon and tell him _it’s okay_ , and Simon exhales for the first time. 

Baz and Simon walk to the middle of the dance floor, and the crystal chandeliers shine Simon into gold again. He is the most beautiful person in the room, and he’s filling up Baz’s vision. The music is still drifting—nobody’s stopped the spell—and Baz puts his hand on Simon’s waist. Simon is gripping his hand and shaking slightly, and Baz squeezes gently.

_Steady, love._

.

.

.

_Dear Simon,_

_I will be eighteen in a week, and_ ~~_I’m terrified_ ~~ _I’m not betrothed to Agatha. So that’s a start._

_My aunt and my stepmother are supporting me, and maybe that’s enough and maybe it’s not. My father won’t speak to me about it, but it doesn’t matter._ ~~_Nothing matters but you._ ~~ _Agatha writes sometimes, and talks about her riding lessons. Penelope sent me about fifty little birds the first week back—how do her birds even get this far?—, but I’ve convinced her to start using pen and paper. She’s told me about her new position as your advisor, and she seems to be doing quite well. Daphne asks me about your letters sometimes, she tries to make everything normal and I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for your letters, too. I’m going nearly mad over here._

_I’m scared for the coronation, and sometimes I wish I could go back to the beginning of seventeen. But I’m glad I’ll be seeing you there._

 

_Love from Baz_

.

.

.

Baz is still the perfect heir to the throne, every inch a Pitch. Even though he cannot help loving boys (a boy), and his father won’t speak to him directly, and his best friends (friend and lover? Best friend and love of his life? Second-best friend and both?) are a lower-ranked Bunce and the crown prince of a rival court. But everybody forgets that when he walks down the aisle to meet a royal officiant at the end, a long ceremonial cloak trailing behind him.

“Do you, Crown Prince Tyrannus Basilton Pitch, direct heir of the Pitch line, accept the duty to rule over your subjects as King?”

Baz’s eyes jump to Simon and Agatha and Penny, all sitting in the front. 

“I accept.”

“Are you willing to not only to watch over your subjects in times of peace, but also rise to aid and lead us in times of strife or conflict?”

Simon, beaming at him like he can’t help it, meets Baz’s gaze. Penny and Agatha are smiling at him reassuringly, and Penny looks like she’s tearing up. Baz will definitely poke fun at her for that later.

“I am willing.” 

“Do you swear to use wisdom, empathy, fairness, knowledge and honesty to the best of your ability for as long as you are able to as our leader?”

His eyes jump back to straight ahead and stay there, and behind the officiant his father wears a look of unmistakable pride, and Baz feels complete for the first time in weeks.

“I swear.”

“Then I crown you Your Highness, King Tyrannus Basilton of the House of Pitch.”

.

.

.

His Highness Basilton Pitch is responsible for extending peace to nearly every royal or noble family and dramatically lowering the rates of inter-house conflict. He has stayed unmarried for the entirety of his reign. He spends much of his time in the Salisbury castle on “diplomatic missions”, and his cousin (born to Princess Fiona) Natasha Ebeneza Pitch,is likely to take the throne after him.

Baz looks quite like his father now. Penelope—an extremely popular Royal Advisor—has wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and appears even shorter now that she’s in her forties. Agatha is beautiful as ever, and her parents are still on the throne, meaning many happy days with Penelope and Simon and Baz eating scones and having picnics (but since they’re older, they have to sit in the pavilion now).

And Simon, of course, is still the centre of Baz’s universe. Nothing is as important as Simon is, and it will stay that way.

**Author's Note:**

> (i had to reupload this because the edits page wasn't working. sorry.)
> 
> thank you so so much for reading. if you liked it please leave a kudos or a comment (or both! ;). i'd love to hear feedback or even suggestions for what i should write next. ♡ ♡
> 
> ☂ sj


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